Hope

If you listen to this sadness,

you’ll find a soothing rhythm,

a lullaby waiting to be sung,

the one that’ll finally put you to sleep.

When you touch the pieces of this broken heart,

you’ll find they aren’t as sharp as you made them out to be.

Yes, they make you bleed,

but would you rather not bleed out the sadness

than let it flow through your veins?

They call it melancholy,

for they do not know the reasons behind why you’re always bleeding.

If they ever bothered to listen,

they’d find the lyrics to a hauntingly beautiful song,

in the cadence of your heart.

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Of loneliness and agony.

Lost between the pages,
I kept waiting for someone to come find me.
It was ages before there was a knock on the cover,
And then a swish,
Like someone trying to dust off the cobwebs.
I was left on the shelves for far too long,
My pages were yellowed and moth-bitten.
The words appeared faded,
Their ink having bled out from years of loneliness.
When the cover finally opened,
The first sliver of light
Breathed life into each word,
And soon it was all sunshine and rainbows.
Alas, all good things must come to an end.
It was a beautiful day,
I was revelling in my new found happiness,
When a sharp pain hit my spine.
A crack and a rip.
My pages were being torn.
One by one.
And I yearned to be back on the shelves again.
The pain lasted until I was stripped off all my glory,
Until I had lost all sense of identity.
And then came a thump,
And absolute darkness.
The cover was closed.
I was thrown back on the shelves again.
Only this time,
There were no pages to get lost into.
Only a perpetual darkness
Haunted by demons,
And a noise,
Like pages being shred.
And I was lost.
This time, forever.

Sun colored.

Painted in the colors of the sun,

She burned down everyone who touched her.

You’d see her shining down upon you,

So bright and ethereal.

You’d want some of her light for yourself,

And you’d try to love her,

And she’ll love you back.

Trust me, she will,

Because to love is all she ever wants.

But the closer you try to get,

The harder she’ll push you away.

The world remembers Icarus

As the one that flew too close to the sun.

She, too, has a bit of a reputation herself,

For, she’s lonely and bright,

And is painted in the colors of the sun,

Known to burn down everyone who touches her.

Hope found another

​Self-destruction and pity parties,

There’s a storm brewing inside.

There’s a calmness

That brings in voices

Not so calm, after all.

A deluge of wandering thoughts,

Form a skull-like facade,

Warning me to step back,

Until I’m backed into a wall.

“Let me out”, I say,

“Let us in”, they whisper.

Whispers turn to shouts,

And there’s lightning and there’s thunder,

“Where will you go? How far can you run?”

And I look up at them,

The voices fading out

As I see them for what they are,

Wandering thoughts in my head,

Taking shape of my deepest, darkest fears.

“I don’t run”, I whisper.

“I don’t run”, I shout.

And love lost its way

But hope found another.

Rainbows

​She hadn’t seen a rainbow in a while.

The world looked dreary,

Just like her life.

“Rainbows are illusions,” said someone,

“The dreary world, a reality,” they added.

She shook her head at them

And laughed, a hollow laugh.

She knew they weren’t,

Even though her life was never full of rainbows,

She’d seen her fair share of those.

And even through her misery,

She felt sorry for people who thought rainbows were illusions.

Perception

Our mundane becomes history
And the things we cherish
Are long forgotten.
In a decade, or two,
When you stare at
The fine lines and wrinkles
That mar your skin,
The photographs
That line your walls
Shall stare at you.
They will be but faded memories
Waiting for you to remember
The person you used to be.
Your laugh will echo around you,
While you frown
At your stretched skin.
And your tears shall cry for you,
When they see you cry
For your beauty long lost.
The grey in your hair,
A mark of your struggles,
Shall seem ever more ugly
When you try to hide it
Behind artificial colors.
And what is a life lived,
When it is a life full of regrets?
Let those photographs
Be not mere memories,
Let them be feelings and emotions
Frozen in time.
Let not those wrinkles and fine lines
Be your demons,
Let them set you free
From the shackles
Around your feet.
Let not those grey streaks
Seem like blemishes,
Make them your strength,
A sign of your survival.
And that is a life lived,
A life lived, but never forgotten.

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True Warriors

The things unsaid,
The words unheard,
The silence never felt
And tears unshed.

The whispered apologies,
Unseen grief,
Hiding behind the curtain
Of a beautifully hollow smile.

Read between the lines.
Read and unread,
To try to decipher
The hidden meaning.

Look for the signs,
Behind those grieving eyes,
For wounds and bruises,
The ones they try to hide.

The scars that mar their bodies,
A testimony of their survival.
These are the true warriors.
Fighting the monsters under their beds,
Both metaphorical and literal.

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Doing my bit this women’s day. Speaking up against domestic violence. Please do your bit. In whatever way you can. Happy Women’s Day.

A Forgotten Name.

She’d write her name with yours,
Write and rewrite.
Her name, it looked beautiful in ink,
Not really understanding your betrayal,
While in reality,
It bled.
Just like her heart.
The longer she stared at the ink,
The more red it seemed to get,
Until it too turned into blood,
Seeping through
The pages of her journal.
The pages of her life.
Stained and ugly,
She tried to wash those stains away,
Not really caring
That she was washing away her existence,
Until only a smear remained
On the leather-bound exterior.
It tells stories now,
Of a how a life was exhausted,
While washing away the stains
Left by betrayal.
Of how, even on paper,
She wouldn’t let there be any signs
That’d mar your name.
Of how, she loved you so much,
She washed away her name from yours,
Just so it’d continue to look beautiful.
To be beautiful.
Without her ugly existence.
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